SACRED


                    Tear down all the
                         olive trees
               and put up another
               (Berlin) wall,
                              Palesisrael
                              Palace-Israel,
          mine-thine
                         buying an Israel-size
                    piece of Montana
                              or
                         Brazil
          and waiting for the voices to begin
               again,
             the exact dimensions, materials, styles
               of The Divine
                  to begin
               again.

NOW-SHARE

                      Orchid,
                      Orcisis,
                 les jambs jamming into
                 delicate new-eye Spring
                 chawing on Morning Glory
                 muffins as the Beatles beetle
                 and the highschool big shot
                 small-burg (Howell) belles
                 saunter by with nay an
                 instant’s thought that
                 they will ever (Pekinese)
                         die.

Les Fêtes/ Festivals


                             

                    March 17th and here go the green
                    shamrock legs and green hair, green
                    firecrackers, it warmed up too and
                    they’re draped all over the drunk
                    porches, St. Who? What? Why?
                    Like Christmas and Chanukah,
                    Purim, Good Friday, Passing         
                    Over into Where? What? Why?
                    Like I was from another planet
                    discovering sunsets and country
                    roads, hill-castles and, OK, some
                    legs now and then, les dames,
                    les cervidés/ deer the up-to-seventy
                    fête, a cinammon roll and some
                    decafe, a lunesta sleeping pill,
                    sleep without demon-mares,
                    three oatmeal raisin cookies
                    and milk for breakfast, my
                    morning e-mails, lunch with
                    Dete and Nona, then at five
                    Dete coming in for her pineapple
                    and acorn squash, chicken, some
                    guava-jellied crackers and peach
                    juice, the out into primitive country
                    ride before the evening (urp!) news,
                    the triumph of festivalless simply
                         survival.

                              ANDANTEING
         
                    Andanteing through the spring-summer-
                    fall Dvorak’s Piano Trio Opus 65 year in an
                    instant, final years outside the socio-economic, theological-,
                    historical-,theoretical- anythings, just a little Chrimoya,a walk
                    along the salaamed banks of the Cecile Chaminaded Seine,
                    holding, being held, you walk into the Rudolfinum Concert Hall
                    in Prague and all the old gang andantes into
                            your memory arms.